


in a palace of cracked marble

by clxude



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Grand Prix Final, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, isabella yang is the best (tm), slight universe alteration, writing this like who am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: Jean-Jacques Leroy is strong. That doesn't mean he doesn't break occasionally.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: you shouldn't post after 11 pm!!  
> me: *throws fic out at 12:18 am* take a fucking sip, babes  
> i haven't written het since seventh grade so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> edited by sarcasticspacenerd!!

“Do you want to go out? Victor Nikiforov invited us.” She leans against the door, easing it shut slowly. “He said all of the other skaters and a few coaches were coming.”

 

They’ve talked, since the short program, whispers and laughter in the hallway, discussed wedding plans during lunch and dinner and whatever breaks Jean could squeeze in. But they haven’t  _ talked,  _ not really. Isabella is afraid to push him. She’s seen him break before, and he’s seen the same thing in her, the first time a website ran an article on her, but she’s never been the cause. 

 

He doesn’t respond. Even under his Team Canada jacket, it’s clear how tense his shoulders are. Isabella stays by the door, watching him. This is different from every other time - this isn’t failing to make a jump throughout practice, this isn’t losing inspiration for an album, this isn’t her getting treated like some girl who found herself in  _ King  _ JJ’s bed, fresh meat for the tabloids to rip apart.

 

“Jean?” Soft, barely loud enough to be heard. She stays at the door, hands tightening on the handle to ward off any shaking. “How are you feeling?”

 

And he shatters, like glass being dropped from the highest window of a skyscraper. Isabella is too far away to catch him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, shaking. His hands cover his face, and Isabella feels helpless, watching the man she loves breakdown. “I’m so, so - “

 

“Stop - “ God, she can’t cry too, he  _ needs  _ her, fuck.

 

“I don’t know what - “

 

“Stop, Jean. Just, stop.” Her hands don’t shake. She has to be strong, for him. She won’t abandon him just because of this. She didn’t sing  _ Theme of King JJ  _ in front of the entire arena to dump him in their hotel room.

 

He flinches, and his hands fall from his face. He still wants to face her, though, and she won’t make him, won’t push him until he’s ready. He’s only a few steps away but it feels impossibly far, and by the time her arms wrap around his waist and pulls him tight it feels as if a million years have passed.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, just as soft. JJ isn’t delicate and he sure as hell isn’t weak. She knows who she’s marrying - Jean-Jacques Leroy didn’t make it this far without a backbone. But still, “It’s okay to make mistakes. This isn’t the end.”

 

She wishes she could heal him with her touch, sew him back together like a tailor. Fix every tiny snag and tear, make him good as new. She would do anything to reset the day, the week, the  _ year, _ if it meant he wouldn’t have to feel this way right now.

 

“I could have done better.” Quiet, bitter, like poison to the soul. She wants to soothe him, change this for the better. “Why didn’t I do better?”

 

She can feel him shaking, tiny convolutions in his ribcage. She holds him tighter, like that will stop him. It’s like holding the sun - scalding hot and not fixing a thing.

 

“You can’t change what’s already happened. You just have to move forward, okay?” She holds on tight, not loosening her grip for even a second as she forms her next words carefully. Her mouth already tastes sore as her lips part, and she says, “If you give up now - “

 

He stills underneath her, freezing like ice. Isabella doesn’t let go.

 

“ - I won’t marry you.” It’s manipulative and it  _ hurts,  _ but she has to snap him out of this somehow. She knows most of his narcissism is a facade, a mask to entertain the public eye, but there’s still some of it in him, deep inside. She just has to pull it out and set it alight.

 

And he shatters, but this time, she’s here to catch the pieces. She holds them close to her heart, doesn’t lose a single atom. She keeps him close, through every tear. Kisses him, says,  _ ‘I believe in you,’  _ every time he falters.

 

“The man I’m marrying is stronger than that.” Bitter, like copper on her tongue, and she tries to whisper it away, turn it into something sweet. It’s hard, digging into her skin along the ridges of her spine. “Don’t give up, Jean.”

 

She feels him exhale and loosen. His shoulders fall, finally releasing all of the built-up tension. She taps his bottom rib twice, quick, barely hard enough to be felt. “Turn around, Jean. I want to see your face.”

 

He complies, eyes bloodshot and cheeks damp.

 

“Jean,” she sighs, rubs her thumbs over the tear tracks until the salt soaks into their skin. “Don’t do this to yourself again, baby, okay? Winning doesn’t matter. I don’t care what happens, as long as you don’t give up.”

 

…

 

“I love you, Bella,” he says later that night, once the lights are off and they’re laying in bed. His arms are wrapped around her stomach. Isabella knows that the position will soon become overheated and uncomfortable, but for now, it’s nice, to feel him relax against her.

 

She rolls over, snuggling closer to tuck her head beneath his chin. His skin is warm and soft underneath her fingertips.

 

“I know,” she says, breathing against his neck and collarbones. “I love you too.”

 

…

 

The Russian national anthem plays for Yuri Plisetsky, and Isabella claps politely along with the rest of the audience. How strong must he be, to win one of the biggest skating tournaments in the world before he's even an adult?

 

As soon as the medals are awarded, she can see Victor Nikiforov cheering for Yuri Plisetsky and his fiance. It’s cute, if a little unnecessary. If he was anyone other than the legendary Russian figure skater he is, security would have been dragging him away.

 

And then, JJ gets his bronze medal, and Isabella understands. Fuck the tabloids, fuck King JJ’s fangirls - that’s  _ her  _ fiance, and she’s proud. She’ll cheer herself hoarse if she wants to.

 

He turns, eyes searching the stands before settling on her. He lifts his medal. For once, his fingers don’t form two J’s, instead taking on a vague i and y. She smiles, eyes tearing up as she frantically waves. 

 

She really is one of the lucky ones.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are cool??? i had fun doing this and i actually like their relationship and there's a lot we don't know so exploring their dynamic further would be cool  
> tumblr - violet-boy; mother-iwa-chan  
> requests welcome!!


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